as i stared into her, i slowly understood that underneath the running mascara that blurred her eyes, was a story that’d shame the old masters.
her face welled with tears, falling like resin laced diamonds; as if every drop held another universe.
i don’t read or write as much as i want or need to; i’m vain and proud- which i despise but can’t seem to change.
while mediocrity and superficial self validation are my chosen poisons for the week,